Aunt Janes Nieces Abroad | Page 2

at the piano softly playing the one

"piece" the music teacher had succeeded in drilling into her flighty
head by virtue of much patience and perseverance. In a thick cushioned
morris-chair reclined the motionless form of Uncle John, a chubby little
man in a gray suit, whose features were temporarily eclipsed by the
newspaper that was spread carefully over them. Occasionally a gasp or
a snore from beneath the paper suggested that the little man was
"snoozing" as he sometimes gravely called it, instead of listening to the
music.
Major Doyle sat opposite, stiffly erect, with his admiring eyes full upon
Patsy. At times he drummed upon the arms of his chair in unison with
the music, nodding his grizzled head to mark the time as well as to
emphasize his evident approbation. Patsy had played this same piece
from start to finish seven times since dinner, because it was the only
one she knew; but the Major could have listened to it seven hundred
times without the flicker of an eyelash. It was not that he admired so
much the "piece" the girl was playing as the girl who was playing the
"piece." His pride in Patsy was unbounded. That she should have
succeeded at all in mastering that imposing looking instrument--making
it actually "play chunes"--was surely a thing to wonder at. But then,
Patsy could do anything, if she but tried.
Suddenly Uncle John gave a dreadful snort and sat bolt upright, gazing
at his companions with a startled look that melted into one of benign
complacency as he observed his surroundings and realized where he
was. The interruption gave Patsy an opportunity to stop playing the
tune. She swung around on the stool and looked with amusement at her
newly awakened uncle.
"You've been asleep," she said.
"No, indeed; quite a mistake," replied the little man, seriously. "I've
only been thinking."
"An' such beautchiful thoughts," observed the Major, testily, for he
resented the interruption of his Sunday afternoon treat. "You thought
'em aloud, sir, and the sound of it was a bad imithation of a bullfrog in
a marsh. You'll have to give up eating the salad, sir."

"Bah! don't I know?" asked Uncle John, indignantly.
"Well, if your knowledge is better than our hearing, I suppose you do,"
retorted the Major. "But to an ignorant individual like meself the
impression conveyed was that you snored like a man that has forgotten
his manners an' gone to sleep in the prisence of a lady."
"Then no one has a better right to do that," declared Patsy, soothingly;
"and I'm sure our dear Uncle John's thoughts were just the most
beautiful dreams in the world. Tell us of them, sir, and we'll prove the
Major utterly wrong."
Even her father smiled at the girl's diplomacy, and Uncle John, who
was on the verge of unreasonable anger, beamed upon her gratefully.
"I'm going to Europe," he said.
The Major gave an involuntary start, and then turned to look at him
curiously.
"And I'm going to take Patsy along," he continued, with a mischievous
grin.
The Major frowned.
"Conthrol yourself, sir, until you are fully awake," said he. "You're
dreaming again."
Patsy swung her feet from side to side, for she was such a little thing
that the stool raised her entirely off the floor. There was a thoughtful
look on her round, freckled face, and a wistful one in her great blue
eyes as the full meaning of Uncle John's abrupt avowal became
apparent.
The Major was still frowning, but a half frightened expression had
replaced the one of scornful raillery. For he, too, knew that his
eccentric brother-in-law was likely to propose any preposterous thing,
and then carry it out in spite of all opposition. But to take Patsy to

Europe would be like pulling the Major's eye teeth or amputating his
good right arm. Worse; far worse! It would mean taking the sunshine
out of her old father's sky altogether, and painting it a grim, despairing
gray.
But he resolved not to submit without a struggle.
"Sir," said he, sternly--he always called his brother-in-law "sir" when
he was in a sarcastic or reproachful mood--"I've had an idea for some
time that you were plotting mischief. You haven't looked me straight in
the eye for a week, and you've twice been late to dinner. I will ask you
to explain to us, sir, the brutal suggestion you have just advanced."
Uncle John laughed. In the days when Major Doyle had thought him a
poor man and in need of a helping hand, the grizzled old Irishman had
been as tender toward him as a woman and studiously avoided any
speech or epithet that by chance might injure the feelings of his dead
wife's only brother. But the Major's invariable courtesy to